


seeing red

by blueshirts



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: (also a tiny bit of character study if you squint), (kinda), Fluff, M/M, Oblivious!Steve, Possessive!Bucky, Post Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:52:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4437953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueshirts/pseuds/blueshirts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve inadvertently challenges Bucky to a charm-off. It all goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seeing red

“Remember the trip to the tavern after you rescued the 107th from that crazy German scientist?”

They were sitting in a quiet bar in the industrial part of town when Bucky asked that. Steve had frowned and taken a measured sip of whiskey, for lack of an immediate response. In the month since Bucky had returned, he’d begun to remember things. Bits and pieces of his former lives. Mostly, from what Bucky had told him, the memories were just indiscernible fragments from his time as the Winter Soldier. Bucky didn’t often recall being Bucky, and least not the one Steve had known.

Steve thought of Zola’s lab, of the table he’d found Bucky strapped to– he wondered if Bucky would ever remember something happy, or if those memories had all been lost.

“Austrian,” Steve corrected automatically. He’d made the same mistake, and soon after he’d nearly been blown up.

Bucky gave him a funny look, “Do you remember or not, Rogers?”

Chastened by hearing Bucky call him by hist last name– something he’d never get used to, no matter how long or how often it occurred– Steve nodded.

“Yeah. Dum Dum and Morita kept singing those old songs– and who knew Dernier could play piano?” Steve had to smile as he recalled the scene, because it was more helpful to Bucky than the alternative. Bucky watched him, carefully, his face his usual blank mask, no hint of emotion leaking through.

“And Miss Carter was wearing that red dress.”

Steve detected something in Bucky’s tone. Unbidden, he was reminded of that first time he met Erskine– foolishly, he felt like asking if this was some kind of test.

“Yeah, she was.”

“Every guy is the place was lookin’ at her,” Bucky laughed, short and sharp, “But she only had eyes for you.”

Steve shifted in his seat, “That’s not exactly how I–.”

“That’s exactly how it was, Steve, and you know it.” and there was no mistaking the bitter tinge that had overtaken Bucky’s words. Steve desperately went back over the last few things he’d said, wondering where he went wrong. He re-examined everything while Bucky signalled the bartender for three more vodka shots. Bucky could get drunk with his version of the serum. He just had to drink more, and faster.

Steve watched him as he threw back one shot, and then a second, and then the third. Bucky tilted his head back as he drank, exposing the soft, pale skin of his neck. That’s when it hit Steve. Bucky had been jealous of Steve-- how could he have forgotten that.

“Buck,” he began, quietly, but Bucky’s eyes still snapped to him as if he’d shouted. Steve smiled hesitantly, “I’m sure if you weren’t recovering from Zola’s experiments, you woulda swept Peggy off her feet. You always were better with women.”

Bucky’s eyes widened minutely, before he looked down at his hands. Steve could have hit himself. Somehow, he always managed to say the exact wrong thing when it came to Bucky. This wasn't how it used to be, he found himself thinking. He'd never had to tread so carefully before.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Bucky mumbled, directed his words at his clasped hands, the metal of his left glinting in the low light of the bar.

“Sure. You could’ve gotten any gal, if you wanted to,” Steve mentally kicked himself, and quickly added on, “Still could, of course.”

Bucky looked up at Steve through light eyes rimmed with dark lashes, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips, “Of course?”

“Shut up,” Steve said, automatically, before he could think better of it. Luckily, Bucky just chuckled. He straightened, and it seemed all the bitterness attached to the memory of the tavern had been forgotten.

“I’m sure you could also get any gal you wanted, Rogers, lookin’ the way you do.” Bucky, who had noticed Steve’s whiskey was running low, duly asked the bartender for another. Steve tried to ignore the litany of questions Bucky had evoked within him with just one simple sentence. _Lookin’ the way you do_ … and how did Bucky think he looked, exactly?

Steve shook his head, feigning glumness when all he wanted to do was grin, “I’ll prove you wrong. Pick any gal in this bar– I bet she’d sooner give you the time of day than me.”

Bucky quirked a brow, and the atmosphere shifted slightly. The air in the bar felt charged, electric. When Bucky spoke, it was slow, deliberate, and most important of all, amused.

“Any girl?”

Oh. Steve should have known better, in retrospect. Bucky never was one to pass up a gamble. Steve found himself nodding in confirmation, though, because he’d do anything to keep Bucky engaged and entertained.

Bucky scanned the bar, quickly assessing each and every occupant in a way only the Winter Soldier could. The corner of his mouth lifted up in a rough approximation of a smirk as he narrowed in on someone. He pointed, and Steve tracked the gesture to the bar, where a woman sat cackling at something the bartender had said. She had her red-lacquered nails on his arm and her teeth were bared in what was probably meant to be an alluring smile. The bartender looked distinctly uncomfortable, and that settled it for Steve. He’d charm the hypothetical pants off this woman, for the bartender's sake. And even if he couldn’t, well, he had Bucky for back up.

Steve swallowed, steeling himself. He’d faced warrior aliens and battled human-hating robots. He could do this. Nodding once more at Bucky, he made his way over to the bar.

He altered the way he walked as he neared the woman, in recollection of the way Bucky used to swagger around dance halls in pre-war time Brooklyn. He swung his hips just the tiniest bit more, and hooked a thumb into the pocket of his jeans to tug them lower, exposing the waistband of his briefs. He felt like he was doing something he shouldn't, and it sent a wild thrill through him.

He made eye contact with the bartender over the woman’s shoulder, and winked at him conspiratorially before leaning in towards the woman.

“Hey,” he intoned, voice low enough to catch the woman’s attention. She turned towards him, face openly curious and,  _God_ , Steve hadn’t planned past the first word.  _What was he supposed to say next?_

“Come here often?” he tried, and in the momentary confusion the ensued, the bartender was able to slip his arm out from the woman's grasp and escape to the other end of the bar. The woman seemed not to notice, too busy taking in every aspect of Steve’s appearance to concentrate on much else. She dragged her eyes agonizingly slow from the tips of his toes to his haphazardly styled hair, and Steve had to try hard not to fidget. He wished he could see Bucky’s face– he was probably laughing his head off.

“Really?” She asked, though she was grinning, “That’s the line you’re gonna go with?”

Steve smiled, sliding smoothly onto the stool next to hers, “It got you to talk to me– couldn’t be that bad,” he signalled the bartender for drinks, and he appeared within seconds bearing another whiskey shot for Steve, and a martini for the woman. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve caught the bartender mouthing an emphatic ‘ _thank you_ ’ at him.

The woman took a sip from her martini, leaving ruby red lipstick stains on the glass, and Steve was reminded of the task at hand.

“What’s your name–”

“–This guy bothering ya, doll?” Bucky purred, suddenly in the other stool beside the woman. He was laying the Brooklyn accent on thick, and the woman was loving it. She schooled her face into a simpering look and spun around. She gawked openly at Bucky, and Steve saw him as if through her eyes– dark hair pulled back in a bun, just enough stubble to accentuate his jawline, and,  _God,_ those lips. Bucky had to have done something to them, they were so deliciously, invitingly pink. Steve shuddered. It was only the few feet, the person between them, and years and years of practice that kept Steve from doing something about Bucky's goddamn sinful mouth.

Steve tried to get a word in edgewise– the woman, Naomi, and Bucky had already exchanged names in the time it took him to pull himself together– and was dismayed but not entirely surprised when Naomi cut him off.

“So–,”

“Thanks for the drink, sweetie,” she said, without giving him a second glance. Although no stranger to rejection (in fact, he liked to think of it as a fond friend by this point), Steve had never been so blatantly the recipient of a brush-off ever since he underwent Erskine’s experiment and came out looking the way he did.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Steve’s. His winning smile tightened minutely– not enough that anyone but Steve could tell. He seemed unsure, all of a sudden. Steve made sure his grin was wide as nodded encouragingly– his desire to see Bucky happy outweighed the imminent reawakening of the familiar feeling of hopeless jealousy he always got whenever Bucky flirted with women.

“Nice talking to you, Naomi,” Steve said, not expecting an answer and not receiving one. He left, and settled himself down on the stool futhest from them. He wanted Bucky to be happy, to get a chance to use some of that charm Steve knew he still possessed, but the untold selfish part of him balked at having to watch too closely. Even Steve wasn't brave enough for that.

Steve raised his index and middle finger– _two more shots, please_ – and the bartender appeared in front of him. He handed Steve the drinks, whistling low.

“I don’t know how you’re not drunk yet, dude, but here ya go.”

Steve shrugged, and smiled.

“Guess I just have a really high tolerance.”

The bartender leaned on the bar, his forearms arranging themselves like parallel lines. He had a sympathetic smile on his face, and Steve found himself automatically mirroring the expression.

“Sorry you couldn’t close with that chick. But, honestly,” the bartender lowered his voice into a wicked whisper, “you could do better.”

Steve glanced back over, under the pretense of checking out Naomi one last time. She was telling some story, inching her hands closer and closer to Bucky with every word. Bucky’s back was to Steve, but he had a sixth sense for that kinda stuff, and he looked over his shoulder. Steve froze, caught looking.

Bucky was frowning. The frown deepened as he took in the bartender’s unnecessarily close proximity to Steve. Steve was the first to look away.

“Uh, thanks, man,” he said, still not used to accepting compliments.

“Liam.”

“Huh?”

The bartender bit his lower lip, still smiling “Call me Liam.”

“Oh, right,” Steve laughed, feeling very much like an idiot, “I’m Steve.”

Liam laughed too, and for the first time, Steve allowed himself to look– really look– at him. His blond hair was cropped short, showing off an exquisite tattoo of roses and ivy which originated somewhere beneath the hem of his black tee and curled up around the sides of his neck. He was tan, his eyes were sincere and such an intense shade of dark brown that they appeared to be black. Liam was exactly everyone’s type– he probably had to fend off patrons of both genders with a stick– but Steve would be lying if he said he was interested. He was far too invested in Bucky in far more ways than he ought to be to give anyone else much thought.

And, apparently, he wasn’t as subtle with his ardor as he’d hoped he was being.

“In all honesty,” Liam started, eyes crinkling around the corners as he saw Steve jump at the unexpected interruption to his train of thought, “I thought you two were together.”

“Together?” Steve echoed. He wanted to clarify the ‘y’all’ part of Liam’s statement, too. ‘You two’ as in he and Bucky? ‘Together’ as in…

“I’m a bartender. I’m good at reading people and, I don’t know, the way you keep looking over at him, and the way he seemed to want to hit me over the head with his shot glass me when he saw you were talking to me.. of he wasn’t talking to that woman, I’d have said you were together.”

“We’re not– he wouldn’t–,” Steve scrambled for something to say to that, and couldn’t find anything that was suitable, “No,” he finished, lamely, and even that sounded more like a question than a flat-out denial.

“Hey, don’t look now, but your boyfriend’s walking over,” Liam patted Steve’s arm in what was probably meant to feel like encouragement, but it only worsened Steve’s predicament. Liam’s touch, while not as soft and hesitant as a woman’s, was still not as rough and callused and capable as Bucky’s. Steve felt bad for comparing them because, really, no one stood a chance in hell against Bucky as long as Steve was the judge.

Never the best at obeying orders, Steve looked, and Bucky  _was_  walking over. There was no smile or frown on his lips. They were a taut line, and his brows were furrowed. He looked confused, angry, and fatal all at once.

“Okay, I’m out. Adios, Adonis,” Liam proclaimed, and then sped off to a door that might’ve led into a back room.

Bucky loomed over Steve, and Steve had no idea why he felt so sheepish all of a sudden, like he had something to apologize to Bucky for.

“So, uh, Naomi’s gone,” Steve tried, carefully not adding ... _and you’re still here._

Bucky frowned, then. He took the stool next to Steve.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice gruff. He was looking somewhere below Steve’s eyeline, “I made sure she got into a cab.”

“That’s not what I–,” Steve sighed. Bucky probably knew exactly what he’d meant. It wouldn’t do to bring it up, though. He took another sip of whiskey, for lack of a better option, and embraced the burning sensation as it slid down his throat. That, at least, had stayed the same. He couldn't get drunk, but at least there was the pure feeling of alcohol.

He watched Bucky watch him, refraining from tugging at the hem of his tee. All of a sudden, it was stiflingly hot in the bar.

“I thought men were off limits,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet and bitter. Steve blinked, feeling like Bucky had something other than their bet on his mind, and thought back to what Liam had said, about Bucky’s apparent jealousy at seeing them so close.

That’s what gave him the courage to confess, at least in part, his feelings. He had some vague, half-formed idea about explaining that it was okay now, that people could be gay, that Steve might even be not one hundred percent straight. He couldn’t articulate all that, though. Instead, he responded to Bucky in the simplest way he could.

“Not anymore, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, intense and bright and unlike anything Steve had seen since Bucky had come back. It seemed he could hear what Steve wasn’t saying as clearly as he always had. Steve waited for a cry of disgust, a proclamation of hatred, maybe even a painful blow to his face as Bucky realized that Steve had always been hiding part of himself from Bucky, but none of those came

Instead, Bucky's stiff shoulders loosened. He crumpled as if a burden had suddenly been lifted off his back.

“Rogers, are you..,” he paused, and latched his eyes onto Steve as if it were a Herculean effort, “.. are you queer?”

Steve wished a hole would appear in the worn wooden floor of the bar and swallow him alive. He wasn't sure he quite liked the sound of that.

“Guess so,” he heard himself say.

“And that’s okay?”

Steve shrugged, and repeated, “Guess so.”

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled, heavily, as if he’d been holding his breath up until that point.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Yup,” Steve popped the ‘p’. He hoped Bucky wasn’t going to have a breakdown in the middle of the bar. He wouldn't have been angry or embarrassed-- his priority was Bucky's safety, and he wasn't sure he could keep Bucky safe from the effects of a breakdown here.

“I think I am,” Bucky whispered, his voice more of a reverent confession then than it had ever sounded when they'd said their prayers together at church.

“You think you’re what?” Steve asked, leaning in. He couldn’t bear to misunderstand, to get his hopes up and think even for a second that Bucky might mean--

Bucky growled in frustration, in anger, in something Steve never got the chance to hash out because all of a sudden Bucky’s rough hand grasped the nape of his neck and gently guided him forward, a wonderfully nonsensical mix of sensations. Steve’s breath hitched as Bucky paused, searching for something in Steve’s eyes, while Steve tried and failed to keep himself from looking downward. Bucky’s lips were right there. His best friend’s lips, which had uttered things like “Who the hell is Bucky?” and “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line,” and which looked like they tasted of sweet things and home. His best friend’s lips, which were on his own.

Steve gasped into the kiss, which was chaste and lasted all of a few seconds, which was bumbling and awkward as their noses bumped against one other until they found the right angle and slotted into each other like matching puzzle pieces-- which tilted Steve’s world on its axis.

Bucky pulled back, pink tongue darting out to wet pink lips. His eyes were scared and wild, vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be, not even around Steve. Steve blinked at him, lazily, his lips curling into a smile. He couldn't believe his luck, getting to kiss Bucky like that, even once.

“Stevie, I think I’m gay,” Bucky sounded like his voice was on the verge of breaking. He sounded so unsure. Steve moved his hands from Bucky’s chest, where they’d curled themselves into fists. He rested one on Bucky’s hip, and the other one entangled itself in Bucky’s hair.

“I think you could be too.”

And then, Steve kissed Bucky back. Even though he’d lost the bet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d won something he'd been fighting for for so long.

"I'm not sure, though," Steve smiled as he trailed kisses from Bucky's mouth to the crest of his ear, only pausing briefly to suggest, "we might have to do a little more experimenting to find out."


End file.
